A/N Ayyyy I've been busy with research papers I haven't finished yet. But here, have a christmas present. :) ~Sammy
marble hands, marble toes
Chapter Seven
Awareness returns to him like a flighty lover and a gentle breeze on a hot day, sudden and unexpected.
Sleep pulls at him, but it is soft and sweet, gentle hands and small smiles, not the demanding darkness of before. He fights it off with a deep breath, and the air smells of cut grass and spice.
The blindfold is gone, and when he opens his eyes, he's expecting the vaulted ceilings and the soft sheets. He sees blue skies and sunlight refracting through glass instead. Somehow, that's just worse.
He's still tied up, silk smooth and ungiving against his skin, but he fights it anyway, because he's awake and the sun's making his eyes hurt and his limbs still feel weighted down, but he's awake and he's not going to be tied down anymore he just needs to get the fuck out get out get out get out get out getmeoutohgodletmeoutpleasepleaseplease and he's panicking again and he's five years old and he wants his mother to make the thunder go away and he's fourteen and trying to figure out if she'll hate him for wanting to kiss boys and he's sixteen and he knows she'll only hug him and let him cry on her shoulder when she finds out and he's nineteen and his suit doesn't fit but that doesn't matter because she's not there to tell him she's six feet under the ground and he's twenty two and he can't breathe.
Fuck that though.
He stops fighting the silk, stares at the stupidly perfect blue of the sky, and he gets his fucking lungs under control.
000
"When I bought this house, the sunroom was the first thing I got furnished. I love it in here."
He's been lying on his back and staring at the sky and fucking breathing, okay? He's been breathing. And it's been at least a half hour of counted breaths and now he's fucking that up again so what is he supposed to do besides close his eyes and stay silent?
Dean doesn't shut up though, even as his voice gets softer and softer and more and more anxious as he continues.
"I like sitting in the sunlight, but I don't always have the luxury of being outside. So, I made sure I got a house with big windows and this room faces north, but I still manage to see the sunrise and sunset from here. It's beautiful. You'd, um. You'd like it. The sunrises, I mean. You like sunrises, right?"
He thinks that maybe he should be worried about Dean knowing that, he knows he should he worried about it. And he is. He will be. As soon as he can find the willpower to open his eyes and start being angry again. Any second now. Really.
"Sam? You're not too hot or anything, right? I mean, I don't want you uncomfortable. You have to tell me if you're uncomfortable. You have to tell me, okay Sam? You have to tell me. Just, don't. Don't think I'll be mad at you or anything. I won't be. I promise."
He doesn't move, doesn't plan to answer him, until Dean says his name in this little whisper, all lost and broken and innocent, just a soft little 'Sam?' and Sam is a fucking idiot because he takes a deep breath (breathe breathe breathe just breathe don't stop breathing) and nods, and he keeps his eyes closed.
Dean is quiet after that, and all he can hear is the rustle of shifting cloth and shoes on hardwood.
A cool hand touches his cheek. He opens his eyes. Dean smiles at him.
Fuck.
Crazy kidnappers should not look so fucking beautiful.
A/N Let me know what you thought in a review! :) ~Sammy